


Unexpected Meet and Greets

by RodiWrites



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, my scavvies boys are ok and loved lET THEM BE OK
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-15 01:36:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13602843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RodiWrites/pseuds/RodiWrites
Summary: The Scavengers finally end up back on Cybertron, and some shiny pissy birds are waiting for them





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the cutie patootie that is TC](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the+cutie+patootie+that+is+TC).



Maybe returning to Cybertron wasn’t a bad idea.

Wasn’t the worst plan they’d ever had.

That was the ‘going into the belly of a giant organic to retrieve a eaten supplies and not taking Misfire’s blaster off him first’ plan.

Wasn’t the best either, though.

Krok mumbled under his mask to himself for a moment, optics narrowed as he glared out over the sea of metal that was New Iacon, looking almost as suspicious as Spinster. He didn’t like it. Even with Grimlock staying on the ship (must to the dismay of and despite the complaints of Misfire ) and the news of a changed, benevolent, trustworthy Starscream, it didn’t feel right. Something was bound to go wrong. They’d be locked up, killed, have Grimlock – now a solid and much beloved member of the team – taken from them. It was risky, very risky.

Unfortunately by the time he’d thought all of this through and turned to address his crew, they were already off, Fulcrum chasing an over-excited purple jet and Crankcase following suit, Spinster leaving just as Krok opened his mouth to speak. He shut it. Nevermind then. They all wanted to be captured or killed, fine with him. They did more ‘dangerous’ things like this most Tuesdays, anyway.

Surprisingly, they weren’t shot at on sight. Nobody seemed to even care that they were Decepticons. Some mechs had insignias, but more often than not they didn’t. Things had changed; people had just…moved on. Looking forward to a new world, one without fear of war or death. It wasn’t quiet for sure; the city was buzzing and crowded, sprawling and loud, but nobody minded. It had Spinster on edge, but when wasn’t he, swinging his blaster around and threatening to gun down oh-so-aggressive repair shops, a fluttering banner and a broken datapad on the floor, before Krok managed to wrestle the thing off him. Shooting wildly into civilians when they were trying to keep a low profile wasn't the smartest of ideas.

“Hey, check it out!” Misfire finally returned from his last escape from Fulcrum’s attempts at keeping him both with the group and moderately quiet, stumbling to an awkward landing in front of the dud and immediately shoving a flyer into his face much too close for him to actually read it. After a moment, he got frustrated at Fulcrum’s inability to read text that was literally less than a centimeter from his optics, and yanked it away to read it himself. The exaggerated, waving arm motions and his insistence of doing a new voice for each line was, of course, entirely necessary and interrupting would make him read it all again from the start.

“’In order to celebrate 50 years of peace and harmony on Cybertron under the rule of King Starscream following the end of the War’ – Why’d they capitalize war? And not Peace or something, not like it’s more important, or supposed to be more important I mean jeez, priorities, right? Oh yeah, reading, frag, where was I-“ Quickly rereading as fast as he could with Krok glaring down his neck, he skipped on to the important bit that had caught his optic. “’Beverages and fuel will be provide free of charge!’ Free drinks! For not killing each other, and free snacks! It’s at some fancy bigwig place but!” Once more, it was waved around much too fast for anyone to see for themselves. “Free entry to any and all! That’s us, we’re any and all! We can go, and get free shit, and sneak like a ton back to the W.A.P then leave in the morning with no losing Grimlock or getting shot at or being thrown into some dark dingy cell with somebot who looks like he wants to rip each of your limbs off and use them to pick his dentae clean!”

Free drinks without extreme danger or paying for them did sound good. Almost too good, Primus didn’t usually smile on them that much, if at all. But, it was all there, in writing, if Misfire was to be believed. After snatching the holoroll off him and studying it for himself, Krok nodded slowly. It looked like the real deal. He wasn’t sure if the fancy seal-looking thing was legitimate or what it even meant, but it seemed Starscreamy, from what he’d heard. The gold lettering and almost illegible, swirling font also screamed excessive and in-your-face against the rich red background. Good quality material, too. He stowed it away in his subspace, before having to grab it again to actually see where it was. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t close by. The city was gigantic, and they’d managed to land at the opposite end to where they should be…but starting the W.A.P up to go all the way over would waste fuel and wake Grimlock, who’d probably demand to come with and ruin everything.

“We’ll have to walk. Take us maybe…Cycle and a half. Turn the thrusters off, Misfire, you too. I’m not losing you here and swapping free Engex for rescuing you. Getting arrested or shot at is not on the activities list.” The flier groaned and muttered something obscene about Krok’s makers, but fell in step (unsurprisingly) beside as very relieved Fulcrum. A nice party where he could hopefully just slip into the crowd or stand unseen with some nice highgrade was always preferable to an evening of screaming and running and ‘oh god is it still chasing us’. Always.

As the troupe made their way steadily through the winding streets of the city, the K-con found himself admiring it. It was pleasant, here. He liked this kind of noise. He’d thought it would be so much worse, under Starscream, but…Apparently, he was wrong, and he was pretty happy about that. Glancing up into the beautiful, dimming sky, two little dots caught his optic. He squinted, falling behind for a moment as he watched. Soon it became clear that it was a pair of jets, almost identical save for the different flashes of colour that gleamed whenever one tilted to catch the sun, glimmering and beautifully elegant – one blue, one purple. Their trails seemed to dance behind them, the two fliers never falling out of sync, as if they were mirror images of one another. He lost sight of the pair after only a few minutes, disappearing in the direction they were headed.

Primus, he wished he could do that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is why we can't have nice things.

Okay, so, maybe this 'party' was more something aimed at mecha whose paintjobs probably cost more shanix than Krok had ever possessed in his life. Ah. Not a single mech there wasn't painfully shiny and simpering over a tiny, tall glass of something just as sparkly and pretty as they were. Well, no turning back now. Crankcase was already hunched in a corner, nursing something grasped tightly between two servos, Spinster was gone (worrying) and frankly, Krok needed this. Badly. An opportunity to get utterly smashed for free without having to bat Misfire's grubby little servos away from _his_ engex every two minutes wasn't something he could refuse. Shrugging off his responsibility, he ignored whatever the hell the others were likely already getting into, and grabbed himself something that looked expensive, and strong.

A short distance away, Fulcrum was quickly coming to terms with the fact that no, this would not be the quiet, relaxing evening he had so desperately desired. And he knew he was a nutter for ever entertaining the idea. After finally sitting himself down with what he assumed was highgrade - he'd never seen anything _this_ green before - he quickly found himself scanning the room for the awful maroon colour his friend sported. Eventually spotting him, the poor mech had to scramble to his feet in a panic. He was quite sure Misfire was attempting to pilfer something from a very elegant-looking femme whilst chatting the ear off another two. Primus. Squeezing through the crowd with repeated mutters of ''scuse me', 'coming through' and 'uh- yeah, sorry, I- thanks' before he could drag the jet by his wing back to the safety of the corner. He needed some kind of leash for this mech, he couldn't take his eyes off him for two nanokliks. All he wanted was one uneventful, non-stressful, nice evening. Maybe he could get a little buzzed, talk to somebot pretty if he was so lucky-

Starscream was feeling rather pleased with himself. This was going perfectly. Windblade was right about one thing, the people did like to see him out and about, even if it was at his own celebration of his own magnificence. And people were also far more eager to praise your dashing good looks and excellent leadership skills with a drink in servo. It was almost too easy. Swanning through the crowd, an elegant, engraved flute balanced delicately between his digits, he graciously smiled and nodded and gave fake little laughs at compliments and admiration of his pristine wax job and fresh colour scheme. His hips swung to and fro ever so smoothly as he weaved his way in and out of his adoring public, Windblade hovering on his comms. Blasted femme, always trying to suck the joy out of everything, whining at him to 'be genuine' and 'socialise'. Like some fretting, bothersome carrier. He was no mechling, thank you.

Oh Primus.

What in the _Pits_ were those?

Starscream's lip curled up into a sneer at the sight of the Scavengers, before Windblade's voice cut him off. 'Go talk to them. Now. Don't be a prick, remember, this is about establishing a good relationship and reputation with the people who would just as easily remove you from power as they got you there.' The flashy flier didn't bother to mention that that little boost in his career hadn't exactly come around easily, he knew it wouldn't do much good. Maybe he'd say it to her face later.

'Remember. You advertised this to 'all and any'. Don't complain.' The _I told you so_ was left unsaid, and that was almost worse. Fine. He'd talk to them, but only one of them, for as few kliks as he had to. Making a beeline for the least-strange one, Lord Starscream cleared his intake politely, though his optics bore nothing just boredom and irritability. He felt like a performing monkey. The dull, sandy-coloured mech turned, thankfully, and he fixed on his best smile, managing to look more than a little sharky, and reveled in the look of surprise for a sweet, sweet moment before speaking up.

"Hello."

Fulcrum took a good while to actually take the situation - take that mech - in. Frag. He was one hell of a looker. Crisp, smooth finish, waxed and polished to a T, perfect posture and pose, dazzling wings- ohhhh, and he was a flier. Either he was indeed exceptionally lucky, or this stunning creature was about to demand he leave.

"Uh- Hey. Fulcrum."

Instead of a mocking optic roll or a snotty stab at why he was here when it was clearly not meant for bots like their little group, he got a smile, a cocked hip and a swirl of that golden liquid in that pretty, pretty flute, before it was tipped back between soft lips, the crystal pressed against them as they curved up. Ohhh, no. It was hypnotic. He looked like he'd have been a Decepticon too, with those flashing red optics. The poor K-class was too enamoured by his face to look for an insignia. Fulcrum's throat moved as he swallowed, searching desperately for more words, good words, words suitable for a mecha like this, anything! He wasn't gonna get a chance like it again to even _speak_ to anyone like this.

As he opened his mouth again to say something, praying to whatever was out there that his vox would function, he froze.

His focus was all on the pretty stranger. Which meant it _wasn't_ on Misfire.

Almost on cue, their was a horrified shriek from behind him. Whirling around, Fulcrum caught only the blaze and roar of thrusters onlining, his own shout caught in his intake as someone tackled a - shockingly - already hammered Misfire, shoving him down with his engines still roaring. Holy slag, who the Pits had he pissed off? Fulcrum didn't have time to look or think or do anything before Misfire's frame demanded he keep going, only horizontally, and smashed into the table, stacked high with engex.

Sending it crashing into Fulcrum. And, he realised, as a deafening screech filled his audials, into that lovely handsome stranger too. Perfect. Just before he slipped into the blissful oblivion of unconsciousness, a muffled, familiar voice reached him.

 

"Ain't that Screamer?"


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a full ten minutes since the rapping on the hull of the WAP had gone from polite to insistent, and three since 'insistent' had turned into 'demanding, arrogant banging' that was likely ruining what was left of the paint. Not that any of the groaning, curled-up crew inside had any idea what the exterior actually looked like at this point, or what colour it had originally been. Despite the constant, echoing noise, not a single one of the self-dubbed Scavengers stirred, except to turn off their audials or crush their faces down into their nice cool berths a little more. It was too early for this. Regardless of what time it _was_ , since none of them knew, nor had the energy to check their own chronometers.

A night of very hurried heavy drinking followed by running through half of New Iacon with stolen highgrade, consuming the evidence and passing out was clearly not something to be repeated, regardless of how put out Grimlock seemed to be that he'd been left out.

Unicron below, whoever the _frag_ had decided to disturb them was still at it. If he knew the poor mech wasn't purging his own tanks, Krok would've had more than half a mind to set Spinster on them and be done with it, to Pits that they would be arrested immediately. Death would bring peace.

 

A cold cell would be nice, too.

 

Eventually, it was Fulcrum who dragged his poor, shaky self towards the main hatch. He knew none of the others would ever move again, and he felt like it was almost his duty, since he'd had the least. The trauma of what had happened had had be rethinking his life in a corner rather than joining in for the most part. Slamming a servo down on the control panel, the heavy blast doors gave a hiss and an unnerving creak before cracking open a, taking a breather, then opening up all the way. Fulcrum hadn't realised how dark it was inside, with only the low-power emergency lights on, bathing everything in an unhealthy shadeof green. Not until the whitish golden sunlight streamed in, making dust particles dance and the beige mecha groan, squint, and swear rather colourfully under his breath.

After a minute or so of gracefully stumbling back and forcing his optics to adjust to the harsh shift, the dud remembered that he'd come here for an actual reason, instead of to stand in full view of the city waving back and forth like a deranged Empty. Nice. Squinting, he made out a figure, partially blocking the glare of the sun. Huh. Neat. More of that would be good. Finally, he could make out a face. A face...horrifically familiar. All of a sudden he got a strong impulse to either leg it, or just...curl up on the floor in that lovely-looking corner and pretend to be dead.

Because of course. it was the Lord of Cybertron himself. Because, of course, the universe just _adored_ Fulcrum that much, and wanted him to relive the fun, fun events of the previous night. Joy of joys.

 

 

"Do you have _any_ idea how long I stood there for! The insolence! The arrogance! I don't have to do this, and yet! You still defy me, after everything! Shameless, rude, ungrateful! Not a shred of appreciation!"

Fulcrum slowly blinked. Ah. There was the Starscream he'd heard about. Yes, the screechy part was no exaggeration, he flt like somemech had stuck a claw into his suffering audials and twisted sharply at every word. It was almost as though his systems had gone into shock, leaving him a blinking, blank wall, unable to really take any of it in one bit. The minute the shiny flier paused, Fulcrum just turned his helm to the side, the maximum he coul really do at this point, and called out into the bowels of the ship.

"...Krooook? You might wanna, uhh..."

After a myriad of muffled curses and a 'Get _off_ me', their so-called commander leaned out of his hab, looking nothing short of murderous.His expression only darkened at the sight of Starscream, and that was clearly all he needed to get going again.

 

"You! You drop your ungainly, ugly hunk of metal down in my city, destroy my celebration, scratch my paintjob, got it into the news for Primus' sake, and you don't have th-"

 

"Wait, wait...news? We get front page?" Completely ignoring Starscream and the helpless Fulcrum, Krok switched his attention over to a small holo-pad, flicking onto the morning...er, afternoon stories, and even with his faceplate he managed to look thrilled, vanishing back into the hab section. After a minute of horribly awkward silence, minus a few muffled, scuffled noises and Spinster's recognisably loud, barked laugh, followed by a groan. Poor Spin.

 

Another long minute.

 

Starscream twitched, as if itching to do something or...probably yell something, but he appeared oddly restrained, lips tightening and optics narrow. Fulcrum took a very careful step to the side, in the opposite direction to the supposed king.

Once Misfire's subdued, but still irritating cackle had joined, and an amused grunt from...yeah, that was Crankcase, Krok as back out, looking far more himself, soon followed by...most of the others, besides the sulking Grimlock and Spinster. He couldn't really do more but lean on the doorway like a broken ragdoll, which was really weird in a mecha his size.

Looking more than a little smug, Krok shut down the holopad and crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his chin up in Starscream's direction, looking far more cocky than usual. That was just the pick-me-up he needed.

"Well, isn't that just great. We've never made front pages before. A full spread too! The people love us, huh? So, ah, now you've given us that lil perk...What are you still here for, huh? You're not gonna see any grovelling out of us," Fulcrum begged to differ. " So if you're looking to boost your ego, start lookin' elsewhere."

Surprisingly, Starcream did little but grind his dentae and clench his servos, biting his own glossa internally, and all but spat words back, optics glowering down at the monoformer.

 

 

"I came to invite you back."


End file.
